


Away and Away

by RobinPink



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Ghost Wilbur - Freeform, Hurt No Comfort, Limbo Wilbur, Tommy decks Phil at one point, b funny if it wasnt so sad, forgive inaccuracies im slow on watching it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-21
Updated: 2020-11-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:14:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27655336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RobinPink/pseuds/RobinPink
Summary: Wilbur exists in a state of limbo after being killed at the button, and regrets. He regrets alot.
Relationships: Wilbur Soot & Phil Watson, Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit
Kudos: 100





	Away and Away

**Author's Note:**

> Technically second smp fanfic, but first one posted! Again, apologies for inaccuracy.

The scent of TNT hung in the air, welcoming Wilbur like a poison as he awoke. Huh, that was something he'd never thought he'd do again. Wilbur shivered, wrapping his arms around himself. The end of his cloak was gone. Wilbur couldn't feel it's--admittingly comforting--weight on him, probably lost in the flames from the explosion. A foul taste filled his mouth, and he felt like he rested in ice water. 

He had no time for this. 

Wilbur tore his gaze from the messed dirt underneath him, looking around. He was in the ruins of the button room, the final scrawls of his country's song barely legible from the walls. Wilbur was perplexed, he had died, hadn't he? Wilbur rose to his feet, a sense of emptiness crossed him. He could only think of his last seconds with Phil.

Wilbur in that moment was fully prepared to die at Philza's hands, he had offered himself so fluidly, his work was done, after all. He could recall falling into his arms. Maybe crying out in pain. His ears rung from the deafened scream Phil let out as he collapsed with him. His mouth was open, wide. Yet Wilbur hadn't hear a sound. The brief thought crossed his mind now, did he regret it?

He wasn't so sure anymore.

Wilbur only now noticed the absence of his body... or well, corpse. He could faint hear something from outside, up and over him. Wilbur stepped out of the ruins, pulling himself away from the charred remains. As he got out, he could recognize the noise--music? It was slow and crackled, but it was music. Wilbur couldn't blame them for celebrating his death, they were probably burning his body with a party. A big final 'screw you Wilbur!'.

Wilbur lugged himself to the dirt, only now noticing the numb sense in his limbs. Not exactly well 'numb' but-everything he touched felt muted, distant. Maybe that was a ghost's feeling. It felt jarring, but not exactly unpleasant. His eyes over-turned to the world in front of him, a odd feeling burying itself in his gut.

They weren't burning his ablaze, with a party or cheers or tears of relief--this was a funeral. It was empty, void of people, but Wilbur knew the look of one. Maybe it was Jschlatt's? No--Wilbur could see his own body at the front, in a rushed, crummy put together coffin. Oh. 

Wilbur kind of wanted to go back to laying in the ruins of the button room. 

He stepped hesitantly forward, even though the likely hood of anyone seeing him was almost 0% percent, unless someone developed some psychic powers. That'd be entertaining.  
He could see where the music came from, a dusty and dim jukebox, the slow melody skipping a few note every once and awhile. He wondered where they had gotten the music, surely they wouldn't play one of the dis-

"Wilbur."

Wilbur eyes snapped back in surprise, seeing the dusty blonde hair. "Tommy..." he whispers, and it hurts him of how his voice cracks. He reaches forward, unsure, but Tommy beats him to it, running towards him. Wilbur first thinks he going to hug him--next thinks he's gonna stab him and finish him once and for all. But he does neither.

A rush of empty accompanies Tommy as he shoves through Wilbur, collapsing onto the coffin. Oh right, dead. Wilbur turned slowly, down casting his eyes to Tommy. His mouth feels dry. He wanted to go back to the ruins even more. 

Tommy used to be associated with light in Wilbur's mind, like a morning sunrise. Then it was weakness--hatred. He could recall the determined look on his face when he discovered Wilbur with the TNT, and the look of hurt as Dream stepped forward. Wilbur never doubted himself and his decisions defending L'manberg. Maybe he should've at some points, or said sorry--he had never said that either. Maybe he should've said it to Tommy, for all the promises he broke.

Tommy was muttering, hands balled up in fist, clutching his torn shirt. Wilbur drifted to his side, looking down at his own pale face. Despite the dribble of blood that covered his bottom lip from being stabbed in the chest, he looked almost peaceful. Like he was just sleeping. But he wasn't, and never would be again.

"W-wilbur. I'm so-god I'm so sorry." Tommy continued to whisper more, but Wilbur didn't catch what it was. Tommy's form trembled, the netherite armor still equipped minus the helmet. He seemed so old, so strong. Yet he was oh so young. So innocent--a innocence he had torn away. Wilbur crossed his arms for comfort, and a useless defense against the permanent chill, he wondered why he was seeing this. Why was he still here?

The silence embedded into him for awhile, Wilbur a looming gloom over Tommy and the coffin. The music disc was the only break from the quiet, its slow and somber melody turning eerie with the quiet around. It seemed fitting. Tommy had stopped crying, now just letting out dry sobs into the edge of the coffin. Wilbur could only watch and stare, feeling out of place. 

Wilbur could only ponder what he had done to get here, in the silence. What he had killed, and hurt, and tarnished, to get where he stood--or once had. He did all this for L'manberg. It didn't matter that it was now Manberg, it didn't matter Schlatt had reined over it for a awhile. This was his masterpiece, his symphony. At one point, Wilbur had looked at the risk, and decided L'manberg was first. This was the price, but it was for L'manberg, and he'd do anything for his country, the one he had to fight to gain, to keep, to lose, and to kill himself.

'It was never meant to be' He recalled saying that in the end, mirroring Eret. Now, he could only think he didn't mean L'manberg or Manberg, they were meant to be, by his own actions. But who left that? Who 'was never meant to be.'

Only one person was left.

"Tommy, what are you still doing here?" The sound of shoes scraping against the dirt grew closer, until they rested in the place behind Wilbur and Tommy. Wilbur didn't need to look to know who it was.. Tommy didn't answer, but he loosened his grip on Wilbur's tattered shirt, lifting his head a bit. Wilbur could now see the red rims casting over his eyes.   
Tommy was shaking again. 

Wilbur turned to give a glance to Philza--Dad. He looked even worse than Tommy, still covered in blood. Wilbur's blood. Phil tried to smile, stepping closer to Tommy. Always trying to be the parent. Wilbur wanted to step into him again. 

"It's late, we sh-" A fist collided with Philza's jaw, Wilbur looked back to Tommy. Tommy's knuckle was bruised, his eyes scrunched but ablaze. Wilbur's memory grasped at a encounter like this, but he couldn't finish the thought. Philza was cradling his swelling cheek, looking saddened at Tommy. Tommy inhaled. 

"You killed him! He was-HE WAS YOUR SON AND YOU KILLED HIM!" Tommy's high voice hung in Wilbur's ear, the shriek of grief echoing around them. "He's...he's dead! He-and-I--" Tommy's small fit of rage dissolved back into sobs, the blonde falling to his knees. Wilbur clenched his hands and looked back to Philza. Phil slowly came forward, crouching down beside Tommy. He sighed, dragging it out until his breath hitched. 

"I know." Philza swallowed, "I'm-I'm really a bad dad, huh?" His feeble attempt at a joke hung, Phil was trying to laugh at it. His laugh slowly embedded into hoarse cries. Wilbur couldn't move, just staring at the two, crying. Not just over anything, for him. Wilbur didn't know when his own legs gave out, but then his hands were distantly gripping at soil and tears were reaching his eyes.

Wilbur hurriedly rubbed at his eyes with his sleeve, trying desperately to will them away. Why wouldn't he stop crying!? He did what he had to do! For himself, for Tommy, for Phil, for everyone! For L'man-

"I wish I told him I-I loved more. We should've kept him close. S-so, so he didn't end up like that." Wilbur's thoughts went quiet, he had heard those words from Tommy, and from Philza before. But now he was dead. It made it seem all so real. 

He didn't realize he was whispering it. "I'm sorry." What was he sorry for? 

His mind answered back, 'Everything'. And that was the truth. 

Phil helped Tommy up, giving a steady weight to his arm. "I-if he was here, he'd say it too. I know so." Slowly, they walked away. From both parts of him. The dead in the coffin, and the entity frozen on the ground. Wilbur couldn't move after them, he had harmed both of them enough. He opened his mouth, and he felt like he was finally saying something truthful to them--his family. 

"I love you too." 

Philza seemed to pause for a millisecond, before continuing his walk with Tommy, away and away.   
Away like them from Dream.  
Away like them from Schlatt.  
Away like them from Everything.

Wilbur only now knew what the receiving side of people fleeing was. 

It hurt.


End file.
